


Into Marvelous Light (This Too)

by skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda



Series: Into Marvelous Light [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, In which a good man finds the lost ones first, a certain hacker with dark eyes and no last name, and grant ward finds a family, and the avengers learn a little bit about what heroism looks like, at least for grant ward, bunch of overprotective strict loving badass adults who care about him, in which broken kids don't become weapons, in which phil coulson goes on a rescue mission, in which the system notices abuse victims before they turn into abusers, in which the world gets it right, in which ward is rescued as a kid, long before he ever meets a certain hacker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda/pseuds/skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Grant Ward, age 13, is found by John Garrett and left in the woods, but this time, Phil Coulson comes looking. Clarification: in this AU, Coulson's team is formed ten years after the events of the Avengers instead of immediately, so Skye, Fitz, Simmons, and Ward are all young teenagers during the events of the Avengers. Other events in the timeline remain the same. </p><p>"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud became more painful than the risk it took to blossom." </p><p>"Someone I loved once gave me<br/>a box full of darkness.<br/>It took me years to understand<br/>that this, too, was a gift.” </p><p>"And he has called you out of darkness into marvelous light."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Erased

Six years ago. Massachusetts. An old well on an abandoned farm.

A boy is crying, treading water at the bottom of the well.

He cries out, begs, but all he can manage is a single word.

A name.

“Grant,” he cries. “Grant.”

After that day, no one calls him Grant for five years.

It’s “Ward,” “piece-of-shit,” “boy,” or “kid.”

He likes it better that way.

One year ago. Massachusetts. A battered house with broken windows.

There’s a woman shouting, slurring words, and four children, huddled together in the front yard. A man stands behind her, but he is not slurring, not shouting, just staring at the children with a cold, dead look in his eyes.

The youngest boy and girl are crying, and Ward/piece-of-shit/boy/kid/not-Grant-anymore, now thirteen years old, is standing in front of them, arms spread in an attempt to protect them. The older boy is huddled

“So who did it?” the man demands, and the woman spits on the ground in front of the children. The two youngest flinch, but Ward doesn’t move. Beside him, the oldest brother is motionless, and suddenly the man wheels on him.

“Maynard,” he spits, his lip curling into a sneer. “Stand up.”

The oldest boy does, sending a panicked glance at Ward, who doesn’t return his look.

“You know who did it,” he said. “You know who took the bitch’s beer,” he sends a scathing look at his wife, who digs her fingernails into his arm. He shoves her off roughly, and she stumbles back, cursing.

If this were a normal family, both of Ward’s younger siblings would be crying or hiding, but they are frozen.

They know, even at the ages of six and nine, that silence means they stay alive another day.

“And you know who dented my car, don’t you?” their father snarled, dragging Maynard forward, his eyes half-mad. “Was it you?” He shook the boy roughly. “Tell me!”

“It wasn’t me!” Maynard protested. “I didn’t touch anything I didn’t do it I promise it wasn’t me I swear to god”—

“Stop babbling, kid!” Their father threw Maynard to the ground and stood over him. “Tell me who I have to punish.”

“N-not me,” Maynard whimpered, curling into a ball at his father’s feet. “I didn’t do it. It was—it was”—

He looks desperately at his siblings, and Ward glares back, knowing that Maynard is responsible for both.

“It was Dana,” Maynard said, his voice suddenly firm, and Ward moves in front of his little brother, feeling his older brother’s settle like a weight on his shoulders. “Dana took the beer, and he—he and his friends were playing near the car. I don’t know how they dented it.”

“No!” Ward said, but their father was already dragging Ward aside, was grabbing Dana and Michelle—Chelle they called her—was raising his hand—Ward grabbed his father’s hand.

“No,” he said. “No. It was me. Maynard’s lying.”

“Did you lie to me, kid?” he rounds on Maynard.

“No!” Maynard says desperately, stumbling backwards and falling to the dirt. “I told you the truth! It was Dana—Dana and Chelle and their friends.”

And then it is all happening too fast and Ward is scrambling for his siblings, throwing himself between them and Maynard is grabbing him and holding him back and Dana and Chelle are screaming and Ward wants to say he is sorry, wants to stop them, and then there are two bangs—two loud gunshots—

And it’s all over.

Ward’s mother is cowering at the door, and Maynard is staring in disbelief and Ward is screaming, screaming at a madman standing over the bodies of two young children.

He acts before he thinks.

Tackles the madman.

Fights back, for the first time.

He was always quick on his feet, always had better-than-normal hand-eye coordination.

He takes down his father.

Takes the gun.

_I’m sorry I’m so sorry Dana and Chelle Dana and Chelle Dana and Chelle I’m sorry I couldn’t save you I’m sorry I hurt you I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything I’m so so sorry—_

Two bullets in his father’s heart.

One for Chelle.

One for Dana.

And then Grant Ward takes off running as if he will never stop.


	2. Lost and Found

_One year ago. Massachusetts._

“You can’t ever go back.”

Ward looks up from the base of the tree where he was huddled. A man is standing over him, his face cold and hard.

“You killed your father,” the man says without introduction. “And your older brother will testify that you killed your younger siblings, too, because he’s still terrified of your father, even now. Of course, you mother was too out of it to understand what happened, so you, kid, have _nothing_ going for you. Except me.”

Ward struggles to his feet, scraping at the tear stains on his face. “And who the hell are you?”

“An interested party.”

Ward steps back, the coarse bark of the tree digging through his thin shirt into his back. “What do you want?”

“You,” he says. “My name’s Garrett. John Garrett. And I can teach you how to be a man.”

_Six months ago. A forest._

There’s a boy alone, shaking under the canopy of trees and sobbing as if he might break.

The man left again today, and Ward has three broken ribs that aren’t healing. He’s hungry and he’s tired and he wants to live in a world where no one will mess with him again, and most days he tells himself that it will be worth it.

That Garrett is doing a good thing.

But on nights like tonight, when the rain seeps through the leaves above his head, Grant Ward is just a thirteen year old boy who has never felt so alone.

He remembers them, says their names over and over again in his mind:

_Dana and Chelle, Dana and Chelle, Dana and Chelle._

If only he’d done what he had to much earlier. Before it was too late.

He has failed them.

Has failed everyone.

Thirteen years old, and he is already too far gone for anyone to save.

_Three months ago. The same forest._

He runs from a couple in a cabin who shout at him to come back.

He’s stolen enough food from them, and he knows.

There is no mercy, not in this world. His only fear is that they will call the cops and then they will know where to look for that kid who killed his family.

It doesn’t matter that he never touched Chelle or Dana. It doesn’t matter that his father was a monster. All the world saw was the guilt, and it was guilt that stained Ward, stained everything from his clothes to his skin to every inch of his soul.

He survives, though.

He survives, and he is guilty for surviving.

He looks down at his rail-thin body, and dreads what he will have to tell Garrett when he returns.

Ward doesn’t have to tell him, as it turns out.

Garrett knows that the cops might come; knows because he saw the cops at the cabin and listened in on their radios.

The beating he gives Ward is one he won’t forget, and the next morning, when he wakes with a split lip and two swollen eyes, Ward hunts breakfast early and cooks it over a fire just for Garrett, as an apology.

And when Garrett leaves him alone again, Ward curls up in silence.

He doesn’t cry anymore, this child who has not been young for so many years. He doesn’t break, doesn’t hurt, doesn’t feel, or at least he tells himself he doesn’t.

It’s a weakness, this pain, this loneliness.

And weakness must be eliminated.

_Present Day. The forest._

There aren’t many men who can sneak up on the feral boy who lives and hunts in the forest.

In fact, up until today, Ward had thought the only man who was capable of taking him by surprise was John Garrett.

It was another man who found him, though. He wasn’t as tall as John Garrett, or as imposing, but he stood in Ward’s small camp as if he was sure he belonged there.

Ward woke to find him there, and scrambled to his feet, swearing. “Who the _hell_ are you?” he asked. Garrett was going to kill him.

“My name’s Phil, Phil Coulson” the man said softly, holding out his hands in a gesture of peace. “And I’m here to take you home.”


	3. Bring Him Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He is young  
> He's afraid  
> Let him rest....  
> He's like the son I might have known  
> If God had granted me a son.  
> The summers die  
> One by one  
> How soon they fly  
> On and on..."  
> \--Bring Him Home, from the musical Les Miserables

It was a cold September morning when Phil Coulson brought a skinny, pissed-off barely-fourteen year old kid into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

“I don’t want to go home,” the boy had told him at least every three minutes for the past four hour drive. “I don’t _have_ a home.”

So Coulson had brought him here, where he hoped that, somehow, he could convince the boy he was a friend.

Inside the Hub, Victoria Hand was waiting for him.

“You brought the child?” she asked crisply, folding her arms. “Isn’t that against protocol?”

“I didn’t ask to be brought,” Ward grumbled, scowling. “Who the hell are you?”

Hand raised her eyebrows, and Coulson suppressed a smile. “Grant, this is Agent Victoria Hand,” he nodded to her. “Victoria, this is Grant.”

“I know who he is. I want to know why he’s here.”

“Because, Agent Hand-job,” Ward said sardonically. “I’m the runaway who killed his family, haven’t you heard? And your friend Phillip found me in the woods. Who are you guys? You’re not the cops.”

“We’re from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Coulson said. “Strategic Homeland”—

“I know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is,” Ward said, and then looked away quickly.

“What do you mean?” Hand barked. “How does he know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is, Phil?”

Coulson looked down at the boy shrewdly, but the boy wouldn’t meet his eye. “How do you know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is, Ward?” he asked quietly. “Have you had contact with any other agent?”

The boy shook his head, but Coulson noticed that his hand went to his ribs automatically.

“Do you need to go to the med facility?” Coulson asked suddenly, looking at his bruises. “I thought those would have healed by now,” he said, gesturing to the scratches and bruises scattered over Ward’s face. “And your ribs, too. You haven’t seen your family in months, have you?”

“I don’t have a family,” Ward said stubbornly. “They’re telling everyone that I—that I killed”—

His voice cracked and he stopped, his face twisting in an attempt to restrain his emotions.

“That you killed your father,” Coulson finished for him. “We know. We also know that it was in defense of your younger brother and sister. We just want to know why you ran.”

Ward’s face twisted in surprise. “They told everyone I killed Dana and Chelle,” he insisted. “Maynard told them, and Lissa was too spaced to tell them anything,” he concluded, referring to his mother by her first name.

Coulson looked from Hand to the boy with confusion. “Who told you that?” he asked.   
“No one blamed you for your siblings’ deaths.” The boy looked away, confusion and grief and anger visibly tearing his face apart. “Besides, I heard you bolted as soon as it happened, so how did you know what Maynard told the police?”

“You know kids,” a voice boomed behind Coulson, startling him. “Vivid imaginations. Good to see you here, kid.”

It was Garrett, and Coulson nodded to him, shaking his hand as the man joined him.

When he looked back at Ward, the boy was staring at the floor, refusing to make eye contact.

“Let’s get him to med,” Hand said dismissively. “The others will be joining you later.”

“What others?” Garrett asked, cocking his head and looking from Hand to Coulson with that keen glance that always took Coulson a little by surprise. “Why is S.H.I.E.L.D. so interested in the kid?”

“He’s been on our radar since he was young,” Coulson explained, and Grant finally looked up. “He’s gifted. You saw his file. Excellent hand-eye coordination, a gift in hand-to-hand… we want him on our ops when he’s old enough. And, of course, his circumstances recently changed.”

The boy shifted and his eyes found the floor again, and Coulson looked down at him, compassion tugging at his heart.

“Come on, son,” he said softly. “Let’s get you to med.”

“Fine,” Grant said recklessly. “But I’m nobody’s son.”

The boy followed him, and Hand turned to go, but Garrett remained watching them both with an odd light in his eyes that left Coulson slightly unnerved.

Coulson shrugged it off. He must be imagining things.

Grant walked listlessly, as if he couldn’t care less where Coulson was taking him, but Coulson could see that each step brought him pain.

_Come on, kid, who did this to you? Who has been hitting you around, all alone in the middle of the woods?_

The med team—a doctor and her assistant—were waiting for them, and next to them, Maria Hill was waiting, accompanied by another woman.

Hill nodded to Coulson. “Phil.”

“Maria.”

“And you must be Grant Ward?”

He nodded sullenly, but she looked at him for a long moment, her expression soft. “I’m sorry it took us this long to find you,” she said quietly. “No one should have to go through what you did.”

Grant stared at her, his expression blank, then rolled his eyes. “Why should you give a shit?” he asked roughly. “I’m fine. I lived. I always do. And I don’t need any of you to help me.”

“Oh, I like him,” the other woman said, shoving her phone in her pocket and holding out her hand to shake Grant’s. “My name’s Darcy, and I work with Jane Foster. You know, the one with the really muscly date?”

Grant stared at her as if she were crazy. “Why should I give a shit about your friend’s boyfriend?” he asked, his lip curling.

“Oh, he’s Thor,” she said nonchalantly. “He’s kind of an alien.”

“You mean Thor, like New-Mexico-Thor? Battle-of-New-York Thor?” Grant said incredulously. “You’re shitting me.”

“He knows about New Mexico?” Hill asked, surprised, and Coulson shrugged his shoulders.

“Apparently, he knows quite a bit.”

“I’m not shitting you,” Darcy said, grinning, still holding out her hand.

Darcy was nothing if not a relentless optimist, and Coulson guessed that she would stay there, holding out her hand until her arm fell asleep.

No one was more surprised than Coulson when Grant tilted his head and stared at her for a long moment, and then reached out and shook her hand. Darcy grinned.

“So how old are you?” she asked.

“Fourteen,” Grant said curtly.

“I have a brother who’s fourteen,” she said inconsequentially. “But he’s not all ninja and badass like you. Actually, he mostly just watches TV. He is _obsessed_ with the Walking Dead—do you watch it?”

Grant shook his head, but for the first time since Coulson had seen him, a tiny smile tugged at his lips.

“Come on,” the doctor interrupted them. “Let’s get this boy cleaned up.”

Grant went with them reluctantly, but Coulson stayed at his side, his hand on the boy’s shoulder when the med team crowded so close he could see the panic on the boy’s face.

The only time Coulson left the room was for the X-ray. The results came through into the next room, where he waited with Hill.

“Someone’s been using that kid as a punching bag,” Hill said, her eyes bright with suppressed anger. “And I want to know who.”

The door opened, and a young woman stepped through. “This is Jane Foster,” Hill told him.

“We’ve met,” Coulson nodded, smiling slightly.

She smiled in return, a bright smile that lit up every room she entered. “It’s good to see you,” she said, and then she glanced at the x-ray on the screen before them. “Whose x-ray?”

“Grant Ward’s,” Hill told her.

“The boy you went looking for?” Jane said, concern etching her face when Coulson nodded. “Oh my god. He’s a wreck. I’ve never seen someone with so many fractures in my life—and so many old ones that weren’t healed, but there’s new ones, too,” she started rambling, but stopped, her eyes clouding with a bright sheen of tears. “The poor boy. Who did this to him?”

“We don’t know,” Coulson admitted. “We know his parents were abusive. Incredibly so. But he hasn’t seen them for almost a year, and he’s been alone—or so we thought—in the woods ever since. We’ve been trying to track him down, and recently he robbed a nearby cabin and they alerted the police. But that’s the only contact he’s had, that we know of.”

Jane swallowed hard, shaking her head. “That’s despicable,” she said. “We need to make sure nothing like this happens to him. Ever again. Who’s going to take care of him?”

“We don’t know yet,” Hill sighed.

“I am,” Coulson said firmly, surprising himself at the words. “I can run missions from the Hub during the day, and I can go home at night. The boy can stay with me.”

The two women stared at him.

“We’ll talk about it, Phil,” Hill said skeptically. “For now”—

“He’s right.”

“Director Fury!” Hill turned, and she and Coulson stood to greet him.

“The boy has a lot of potential,” the director said. “He’s a lot like Romanov. He could either be our greatest strength or our greatest threat.”

“Or we could just let him be a kid,” Coulson said, his tone slightly cold, and Fury smiled.

“And that’s why I want you to take care of him.”

“Sir”—Hill began.

“We’ll let the boy have a say in it,” Fury said. “But I want him with Phil. And now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business with Mr. Pierce to attend to. Dr. Foster.” He nodded to the scientist and withdrew as quickly as he had come.

“Well,” Hill said slowly. “I guess that settles it.”

“We’ll talk to Grant first,” Coulson said firmly, and Jane smiled warmly at him.

“For tonight, we’ll bring him to our quarters,” Jane said. “You can stay, too, Phil. It’ll be a safe place for tonight.”

The doctor opened the door, and Grant entered, the same sullen expression on his face as before. Now, however, he seemed to walk with less pain.

“I wrapped his ribs,” the doctor said. “He needs to stay away from any hard work or any intense exercise for the next six weeks, but he’ll be fine. He had several other fractures, and I’ve set some of them and cleaned up the cuts. He’s a little roughed up, but he’ll be just fine if he gives it enough rest.”

“How about fist fighting?” Grant asked sardonically. “Can I do that?”

The doctor raised her eyebrows, but before she could say anything, Jane Foster stepped forward.

“I’m Jane,” she said brightly. “You must be Grant?”

He nodded, shaking the hand she held out. “Are you Darcy’s friend?”

“Oh, you’ve met Darcy?” Jane grinned. “Did she ask you about the Walking Dead?”

Ward cocked his head. “She said her brother watches is”—

“Oh, Gordon does, too,” Jane said, rolling her eyes. “But it’s Darcy’s show, really. She never shuts up about it.”

Grant nearly smiled, and she gave him her signature Jane-Foster-sunshine smile.

“We were talking about a place for you to stay tonight,” Jane continued. “Would you be up for staying in our quarters? Thor and I and a few others have our own quarters in the west wing, top floor. Coulson will be staying, too.”

Grant shrugged.

“Thor would love to meet you,” Jane said. “And god knows we need someone to keep Darcy busy. What do you say?”

Ward stepped back slightly, his expression slightly suspicious, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Wonderful,” she beamed. “Phil, Steve’s here, by the way. He was asking to see you.”

“Steve?” Grant asked sharply before Coulson could speak.

“Captain America,” Coulson clarified, unable to express an excited grin.

“No,” Grant said, genuine shock on his face. “No way. I’m going to meet Thor _and_ Captain America?”

Coulson nodded, grinning, and put a hand on Grant’s shoulder. This time, the boy didn’t shrug him off.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs and get you a set of fresh clothes, and then we’ll head upstairs so you can shower and get something to eat. Okay?”

“Okay.”


	4. A Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification about the timeline: as this is an AU (obviously), the timelines are different. In this AU, the events of the Avengers take place ten years before Coulson forms his team (meaning that during the events of the Avengers, Ward is a teenager, and Skye and FitzSimmons are preteens/young teens).

When Coulson had retrieved a fresh set of clothes from the lower level—sweatpants and t-shirts, mostly, with a pair of jeans and new shoes, because the state of his old Nikes was abysmal—he led him upstairs.

“Most of the compound is underground,” he explained to Ward. “And technically, civilians aren’t supposed to be in the top three levels of the compound, which is where most active op agents stay between missions. The exception is the Avengers, who are, for the most part, technically consultants. Cap stays here, and Thor does when he’s in town. Barton and Romanov are agents, of course, so they have rooms, of course. Jane Foster is a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist now, and Darcy is… Darcy, so they stay here pretty full-time, too. Banner visits sometimes—never stays for too long, of course, he has his clinic in Calcutta—and stays here, and somehow, Stark always gets in, too, though nobody’s supposed to let him in.”

Coulson could see Grant struggling to maintain his disinterested façade, and he smiled slightly. “Thor should be here right now,” he said. “Do you want to shower and freshen up before you meet anymore new people? It’s been a pretty big day for you, I’m sure.”

Grant shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“Well, I’ll show you to your room—there’s an empty room now that Agent Hand has moved out with her wife, and it’s next to mine, across from Steve’s. We’ll move your stuff there and you can decide what to do from there.”

“I don’t have any stuff,” Grant said in a small voice, looking away.

The words caught Coulson off guard, and he looked down at the boy sadly. “Well,” he said, trying to speak brightly. “You do now.” He held up the clothes. “It’s not much, but it’s a start. And you’ve got a place to stay.”

“For tonight.”

“You’ll always have a place to stay,” Coulson said firmly. “I don’t know where that is going to be, but it’s not going to be back with your older brother or your mother, and we’re not going to ditch you. That’s a promise.”

Grant didn’t respond.

Didn’t even look at him.

And Coulson knew it would be a long time before he would ever believe a promise like that.

When they reached the top level, Coulson led Grant through the double doors into a common room that, though a little messy, was warmly decorated and complete with a few couches and lounge chairs and a TV. The left side of the room led to a common kitchen area, and the right to an adjoining room with a pool table and a card table set up, while the hall behind the common room led back to the bedrooms.

The room was empty except for two people—Jane and a very tall, very blond man carrying a hammer.

“Is this the young one?” the man asked, and Jane nodded, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

“Grant, this is Thor,” she said pleasantly.

Grant just stared.

“I am pleased—pleased to meet you, Grant, son of Ward,” Thor said, and then immediately looked to Jane with a pleading look that seemed to ask if he’d done it right. She nodded, smiling slightly, and Coulson suppressed a grin.

Grant held out his hand to shake Thor’s, who gripped the boy’s hand just a bit too tightly, and Coulson saw him suppress a wince of pain.

“I’m going to show him his room,” Coulson told the pair, and Jane nodded.

“We’re going to make some supper,” she said. “It should be ready in fifteen, and you’re welcome to join us.”

“We’ll be there,” Coulson said, looking at Grant, who was staring at the floor again, but still sneaking glances at Thor. “Is that alright with you, Ward?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner in fifteen?”

“Sure,” the boy said carelessly, but Coulson could have sworn he had heard the boy’s stomach growl.

Fifteen minutes later, when Coulson re-appeared in the common room, the boy was nowhere to be seen. Jane and Thor had set several places at the main table, which was big enough to accommodate everyone on the floor if they needed it.

“Have you seen Grant?” Coulson asked, concern flaring immediately.

“He’s in his room,” Jane told him. “One of the agents came up to talk to him—Garrett, I think his name was? He’s a level eight, and he has clearance to be anywhere in the building, so I assumed it was okay? I asked Grant, and he said it was alright.”

Coulson nodded. “Is dinner ready? I’ll go get him.”

As it turned out, he didn’t to, because as soon as he rounded the corner in the hallway leading to the rooms, Garrett emerged with Grant, his hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder.

“Phil,” Garrett called out, smiling cheerfully. “The kid and I were just having a chat. I have to head out, but I wanted to make sure he was adjusting. Don’t let this man be too hard on you, okay, kid?” he joked, jostling Grant playfully.

The boy didn’t speak, just stared at Garrett for a long moment, his face unreadable.

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Coulson told Garrett, breaking the awkward pause, but Garrett declined jovially, saying he really had to be back in briefing for his next mission.

Grant drew a deep breath as soon as Garrett disappeared.

“What did Garrett want to talk about?”

“Wanted to make sure I was okay,” Ward said briefly.

“And are you?” Coulson asked, looking at him sharply as they entered the common room.

“Yea. I’m fine.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Jane called, barely making herself heard, and Thor echoed with a shout that caused Grant to jump back instinctively. Thor looked down at him apologetically, but Coulson shook his head just slightly before Thor could apologize and make the boy even more uncomfortable.

“I made spaghetti tonight,” she said, apologizing with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m sorry it’s not something more elaborate, I’m a scientist, not a cook, and Thor—well, he says he doesn’t know how to cook with any of the meat we have here.”

“I’m learning,” Thor grinned.

Others were pouring in from the hall now, and Grant looked alarmed at all of them. Coulson took a seat beside him immediately, hoping it would help if he sat with at least one person he knew, and then Darcy slipped into the seat on the other side, tucking her phone into her pocket and grinning at Ward.

“Muscle-man there makes some damn good spaghetti,” she told Ward. “Jane will tell you she made this meal, but she just put in the frozen loaves of garlic bread. Thor’s our housewife.”

Thor grinned. “That is high praise,” he said. “But my Jane Foster, she has skills I cannot understand. Even our healers on Asgard are impressed when I tell them of her knowledge of the stars. Few of your people possess such knowledge.”

Jane smiled down at him, a little shyly, and then slipped into the chair beside him.

A tall, clean-shaven man, with short blond hair and a soldier’s gait, entered the room, and Coulson fought the temptation to stand up and greet him.

Instead, he greeted him with a simple nod and a “Steve,” which he acknowledged with a smile and a nod.

“Phil. Good to see you back.”

Phil grinned at the man, suppressing his excitement. After all this time, he was still that boy—the ten year old boy painting a star on the lid of his trash can and pretending it was a shield, the twelve year old boy who fought off three bullies in an ally and got the hell beat out of him because he wanted to be Cap, the fifteen year old boy who had promised Nick Fury that SHIELD meant everything to him.

“You must be Grant,” Steve said cordially, holding out his hand to shake the boy’s. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Grant smiled—actually smiled—this time. “My brother told me stories about you,” he said suddenly, volunteering information for the first time since Coulson had found him. “My little brother Dana. He read all the stories when we were little.” Grant’s voice faltered slightly, and Coulson felt the loss the boy had suffered in the tone of his voice.  “He thought you were the bravest person he’d ever heard of.” He stopped, flustered and maybe a little surprised that he had said more than he meant to.

The words “when we were little” sounded so strange coming from him, this skinny bruised kid who had somehow managed to survive for months on nothing. In some ways, this boy was still little—and in some ways, he had never been.

Steve grinned at Grant’s enthusiasm. “I’m honored,” he said. “But from what I hear, you and your siblings—Dana and Chelle, right?—were the brave ones. I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, his voice subdued. He took the chair opposite Grant’s, and the boy stared at him for a long moment as if judging his sincerity.

“Thanks,” he said finally.

“Have you met the others?” Steve asked, seeming to understand wordlessly that Grant needed to change the subject. “Thor and Jane and Darcy?”

“And don’t forget me,” a voice interrupted them, and Coulson turned to see Stark standing in the doorway, beside an apologetic-looking Pepper Potts.

“Trust me, you won’t forget Tony,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “He never shuts up long enough for that to happen.”

“Tony Stark,” the man stuck out his hand. “You might know me as Iron Man.”

Grant smiled just slightly. “Yea,” he said, shaking his hand. “I know who you are.”

Stark grinned. “Hear that, Miss America?” he turned to Steve. “Everyone knows who I am.” He turned to Coulson. “Is this the one you told me about? Grant?”

Coulson nodded, and Grant looked uncomfortable.

Thor placed two pots of spaghetti on the table at that moment, and everyone began digging in.

Grant looked uncertain, but Darcy grabbed his plate and held it out for Steve to fill with spaghetti, and then proceeded to nearly drop it into his lap as she handed it back.

The boy, who had showed little interest in anything up until that point, dug into the food wolfishly, downing his first portion faster ever than Thor, who was usually the first to make it through his first helping.

Steve wordlessly helped him to another serving. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked softly below the chatter at the table.

Grant shrugged, not looking up from his food. “Yesterday?” he said uncertainly, his mouth full of a bite of bread. “Maybe the day before that?”

Coulson felt suddenly sick, and he exchanged a glance with Steve, whose face was filled with a quiet sadness that he understood exactly what Grant Ward had been through.

“Careful,” Steve cautioned. “The first time you eat a big meal after going hungry for a while, you might overeat. Take a break after this one, okay? Just so you don’t get sick.”

Grant nodded, still keeping his gaze on his plate.

After the meal was over, Coulson was the first to stand. “Tony’s turn to clean up,” he said, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“I don’t do that kind of thing,” he said. “Not my speed. I usually just invent something to do my work for me.”

“Typical Stark,” Steve rolled his eyes, scraping back his chair. “I’ll do them. Phil? Join me?”

Phil nodded, looking to Grant. “You’ll be okay?” he asked quietly, and the boy nodded, pushing back his chair.

“Darcy, do you wanna watch the Walking Dead?” he asked, and Coulson was taken aback by the small smile on his face.

She jumped up so fast she dropped her phone, and Jane giggled.

“She’ll never say no to that,” Jane whispered loudly, and Darcy flipped her off.

Coulson smiled, relieved, and joined Steve in the kitchen to clean up.

He entered the common room again about fifteen minutes later, accompanied by Steve, only to find that Darcy was on one side of the couch watching the television. Grant was curled up on the other side of the couch, fast asleep.

Someone had thrown a blanket over him, and Coulson stopped to pull it up over his shoulders.

Steve paused beside him. “How old is he?” he asked softly. “Thirteen? Fourteen?”

“Barely fourteen,” Coulson answered. “Too young for what he’s seen.”

Tony appeared in the common room suddenly, caring a blanket. He stopped when he saw them, his face reddening slightly. “I didn’t think you’d be done,” he said, tossing the second blanket over Grant. “You know, you domestic divas like to take your time.”

Steve smiled slightly, but turned his attention back to the boy.

“We should have gotten to them earlier,” he said, regret lacing his tone. “Those kids—all of them—deserved to be taken out of that house a long time ago.”

“I know,” Coulson said quietly. “How did we let it go unnoticed for so long?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, and Tony just looked away from them both. “But we can never let it happen again. Are you going to have him stay here with us?”

“I hope so,” Coulson said. “He’s not going back to that family. He doesn’t want to, and I don’t want him to, either.”

“From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t really _have_ a family,” Steve sighed.

“Well then,” Darcy spoke up suddenly, looking up from her phone at them and surprising Coulson, who hadn’t realized she had been listening. “If he doesn’t have a family,” she said nonchalantly, as if it were the obvious decision. “We’ll have to give him one.” 


	5. Even Darkness (A Homecoming)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's like in the great stories... the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end… because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing… this shadow. Even darkness must pass.”   
> \--J. R. R. Tolkien

When Ward woke the next morning, he was in his own bed, though he couldn’t remember getting there himself. It was late in the day, and sunlight was already filling his room. He slipped out of bed and into the new clothes Coulson had left for him.

He wondered if Garrett would be here today—he had found him the previous night, shoved him against the wall roughly and demanded to know how he had been found and if he had said anything.

_“Breathe a word of it and I can bury you,” Garrett had snarled. “You know who I am. I can frame you for a dozen murders and no one will ever suspect me. I can make you disappear. I can take you out of here in a second, and none of these people could protect you, even if they wanted you to.”_

_“I want to stay,” Ward had said stubbornly._

_“Don’t forget who saved your life, kid,” Garrett had reminded him. “Your older brother would have come after you if I hadn’t been there. And the cops would have found you and left you to rot in jail a long time ago for a triple murder if it wasn’t for me.”_

_“Coulson said they knew I didn’t kill Dana and Chelle.”_

_“Coulson told you what you wanted to hear. He never tells the whole truth.”_

_“How do I know you do?”_

_Garrett drove a fist into his ribs, cracking another under the brace the doctor had given him. “Because you believe me,” he hissed. “And because I’ll always tell you the truth no matter how ugly it is. Because when I say you deserve this, you know I’m telling the truth.”_

Someone knocked on the door.

“Yea?” he asked roughly, pulling his short over his head.

Coulson poked his head in. “Do you want some breakfast? We have pancakes. Stark brought breakfast—he didn’t make it, of course, but he knows where to get the best. I think he actually had this catered, actually. The ass hole.”

Ward felt his lips twitch slightly. They all talked about Stark with the same tone—one of a fond sort of irritation.

“After breakfast, you and I should have a talk,” Coulson said. “We’d like you to stay here with us, but I want it to be your choice.”

Ward didn’t respond. The word “choice” had always been a meaningless one. He may not have lived very long, but it was long enough to know that choice was an illusion the powerful spoke of, not something bruised boys who faced monsters were ever given.

He followed Coulson down the hall into the common room and took a seat at the table next to his Darcy, who was in her pajamas, blearily sipping from the biggest mug of coffee Ward had ever seen.

“Where’d you get the mug?” he asked.

“It’s Thor’s,” Darcy answered sleepily. “Don’t tell.”

Ward smiled.

“Morning,” Steve said, appearing from the kitchen with a platter of pancakes.

“Morning,” Ward said, still a little shy around Dana’s idol.

_Dana should have been here to see this. And Chelle. She would have loved them all, especially Darcy._

Steve flipped three pancakes onto his plate. “Tony had them make some fresh ones when Coulson went to get you up.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Too early,” Darcy grumbled, tipping her mug up and guzzling her coffee.

“It’s ten,” Steve said. “I asked to report in later today so I could see you before I left.”

Ward looked up nervously, but Steve smiled easily.

“Sorry to make your nervous,” he said. “I just wanted to see how your first night here went.”

“First?” Ward asked. “I’m staying.”

“If you want to,” Coulson said. “We’ve all talked it over. We’ve talked about foster care homes, but we’ve also all agreed that we’d love to have you stay here with all of us. We’ll arrange for school if you want to stay here with us, and we’ll talk about the rest of the details if you decide to stay. But it’s your choice.”

“And my other choice is foster care?”

Coulson nodded. “Where do you want to stay?”

“I don’t really give a shit,” Ward lied. “As long as I don’t have to go back to… to…”

To Maynard.

To Garrett.

To hell.

“You won’t ever have to go back,” Coulson said. “I promise you that. Maynard is in foster care with no siblings, and we’re making sure he gets the care he needs, but you won’t ever have to see him again if you don’t want to.”

“And Lissa?” Ward asked. He didn’t remember the last time he’d called her ‘Mom.’ Or the last time he’d called the monster ‘Dad.’ Probably since Gram died…

“She’s in a treatment program,” Coulson said briefly. “She’ll be facing charges of neglect, and you won’t have to see her, either, unless you want to.”

“So why are you keeping me here?” Ward asked roughly. “Why aren’t you shipping me off to foster care?”

Darcy pushed back her mug of empty coffee. “You didn’t have a home,” she said bluntly. “Now you do.”

She smiled sleepily at him and exited to the kitchen, calling for Thor and asking where the goddamn coffee pot had gone.

Ward opened his mouth and shut it again, and then his lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That’s utter shit,” he said sharply, pushing back his chair and facing Coulson and Steve. “Home? This is a fucking base for an intelligence agency. Why the hell should I trust any of you?” Impulsively, he reached out and shoved Steve—which was pointless, because he was apparently sturdier than a brick wall—and ducked instinctively when Coulson moved suddenly.

Ward waited for a split second—waited for the sadness in their eyes to wane, waited for one of them use the back of their hands, their fists, to tell him the only truth he knew.

And then he ran—away from the emptiness that should have been filled with shouting, away from the variables, away from understanding eyes that spoke words he could not bear to hear.

He was quick—he had always been good at running—and he had made the end of the hallway to the long window looking down six stories. He could kick out the window and make it appear that he’d jumped, and then escape through the ventilation shaft on the side.

He raised his foot to kick in the window when above him, a panel of the ceiling just above him was dragged back and two people dropped through, apparently from the roof.

One was a woman with dark red hair, dressed all in a black, and the other was a man with clipped short hair and a bow over his shoulder. In the man’s arms he carried a small bundle, and they were arguing fiercely.

“The fuck”—

Ward stared at them, and the woman noticed him first. She looked at him, unsurprised.

“It’s Grant, right?” she asked. “I’m Natasha, and this is Clint.”

The man reached out and shook his hand, and the bundle in his other hand wriggled.

Ward stared.

“Sorry we weren’t around last night,” she said. “We were out an op.”

“Well, not exactly”—

“I mean, I was saving Clint’s ass”—

“I would have been fine if I hadn’t had to get this little guy out of there.” He held up the bundle, and pulled back the cloth covering it to show a scrawny black lab puppy that was wriggling wildly and snapping at his hand ferociously.

“A puppy?” Ward squinted at them. _These_ were the two assassins who had helped save New York from Loki’s invasion?

“Yea, and I told him we can’t keep taking in more strays,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “But Clint will never say no. Even to that feral little thing.”

The dog squirmed in Clint’s arms, craning its neck to snap wildly at his hand. “It’s not feral,” Clint contradicted. “Just a little wild. I couldn’t just leave it there.”

Ward raised his eyebrows.

“Anyway, what were you doing?” Natasha asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Running away,” Ward said coldly.

“Jumping?” Clint demanded bluntly, concern washing over his face.

“No,” Natasha answered for him. “Kicking the window so it looked like he jumped, and then escaping through that shaft there or the roof.”

“I didn’t think about the roof,” Ward admitted, but Clint was staring back and forth between them.

“That, Clint, is why I never need an extraction plan,” Natasha said. “And nice work, kid. How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Damn. It’s a good escape plan. Why were you running?” she asked nonchalantly, turning and jerking his head to indicate that he should follow them down the hall.

Ward shrugged. “Didn’t want to be here.”

“You ran from Phil?” Clint asked. “And Steve, too?”

He nodded.

“They mean well,” Clint said. “But I run away from them too, sometimes.”

Tasha laughed and elbowed him. “You should stick around, kid,” she said. “Heard you were pretty damn good. Director Fury himself told me about you,” she said carelessly, but her eyes were soft when she looked at him. “It’ll be nice to have you around.”

“Tasha and I are going to get some food, but then we’re going to head to the roof for some sparring practice,” Clint said. “And archery. Care to join us?”

Ward nodded, but then pointed to his ribs. “Not supposed to spar,” he said.

“And Coulson will have both our asses if we let you,” Clint said. “So it has to be archery, Tasha. Ha.”

She elbowed him again and then they turned the corner and emerged into the common room again.

Steve and Coulson looked up, unsurprised.

They had obviously heard the voices in the corridor.

Steve gave him a brief, piercing look, and Ward’s eyes sought the ground immediately. Coulson, however, joined them wordlessly, placing a hand on Ward’s shoulder, and Ward did not shrug him off.

Clint handed him the still-struggling puppy so he could eat his breakfast, and the two spies stood leaning against the wall in front of him, eating off of each other’s plates and arguing playfully until Ward himself was almost laughing.

Jane brought out a bottle she said had been made specifically for puppies because Clint had brought home so many strays, and Ward fed the puppy until it stopped growling and, finally, fell asleep in his hands.

And as he stood there, Coulson’s hand on his shoulder, surrounded by gods and soldiers and spies who had all welcomed him in, holding a feral puppy in his hands, Grant Ward wondered if this was what it felt like to come home.


	6. Keeping the Stray

Clint spent at least an hour explaining different bow techniques to Ward on the windy, open roof, while Tasha used the sparring tower and the salmon ladder set up on the rooftop.

“Isn’t there a workout place or a shooting range downstairs?” Ward asked, looking around at the rudimentary workplace the two had built for themselves.

“The hawk here likes to be high up,” Tasha called from the salmon ladder, grinning at Clint.

“We don’t like to train with the other agents,” the older man said, shaking his head at Tasha. “You’re welcome up here whenever. Just don’t use the sparring equipment until those ribs are healed.” He jerked his head towards Ward’s injuries. “I meant to ask you… how did that happen? I heard you were supposed to be out there alone?”

Barton’s tone was casual, but he looked at Ward sharply, gauging his reaction.

Ward froze for a millisecond, but then shrugged. “Still healing from Maynard,” he said. “My brother. And from…” His voice trailed off, and he thought of his father briefly.

“Your father?” Barton asked softly.

Ward nodded.

“Heard some of the fractures were new.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Steve texted Tasha last night. Said you’d got here safely, but you were a little more beat up than they’d expected.”

“He must have understood wrong,” Ward shrugged.

They were spies. They were good. They would be able to tell if he lied—or Tasha would, at least, and Ward was already looking for exits if he needed to run.

He turned—

And Tasha was standing behind him, carrying a sparring cane.

He jumped.

“Sorry,” she grinned. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“She does that all the damn time,” Clint complained. “And we can spar in a minute, Tasha. Ward and I are busy.”

“You’re wearing him out,” she said, and Ward saw her knowing look. “His ribs. They’re newly fractured.”

“I told you”—

“I know,” she said softly. “And you almost convinced Barton. Listen, kid, you can tell us what happened and it doesn’t matter what it is. It’s okay. But if you don’t want to tell us anything, that’s okay, too. But we’re not blind, Ward.”

Ward stared at the ground, and Barton nudged his shoulder gently. “Hey,” he said. “Let’s get you inside. You look exhausted. I shouldn’t have kept you up here for so long, I get a little carried away with the archery”—

“I’m not tired,” Ward said abruptly. “And I’m not weak.”

“We don’t think you are,” Tasha said truthfully, looking straight at him. “But it’s almost time for dinner and Thor and Jane are cooking again, and Barton doesn’t want to miss it. That’s what he really meant.”

“You like their cooking, too!” Barton protested, laughing, and Ward relaxed.

“I mostly like vodka,” Tasha said. “You’re the one that likes to eat.”

Ward smirked, and Barton elbowed him. “Are you taking her side?”

“Am I getting vodka out of it?”

“No,” another voice said, and Ward saw Steve climbing through the roofing tile. “Tasha, he is fourteen years old and you are _not_ giving him vodka. It’s bad enough that you let Tony have someone last time he was here.”

Natasha and Barton both grinned wickedly at some mutual memory, and even Steve smiled.

“Come on,” he said. “Dinner’s ready, and that puppy you brought home is driving everyone crazy.”

“Are we keeping it?” Ward asked eagerly, before he could stop himself.

Steve grinned. “You’ll have to ask the boss.”

“Coulson?” Ward asked. “Who’s the boss?”

“Oh, Coulson’s not the boss,” Steve said, laughing. “Tasha here is the real boss. I mean, technically Fury and Hill and Coulson, but… it’s Tasha. So ask her.”

Ward looked up at her, and she was shaking her head. “You’re just like these two,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Another goddamn dog.”

“Nat”—Barton began, and Steve opened his mouth, too, but Natasha waved away their arguments.

“That thing is feral,” she said. “It might be little now, but it’s going to grow up wild and feral”—

“Not if I take care of him,” Ward pleaded. “I will. I’ll feed him and everything, and take him for walks. I won’t let it bother you, I promise.”

Tasha raised her hands in surrender. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re taking care of him. And _no_ , Clint, that does not mean you can bring home another one. You either, Steve,” she added when she saw him grinning mischievously.

Steve dropped through the opening in the roof first, and Ward followed, stumbling slightly as he landed hard on his ankle. Coulson, who was waiting just inside, caught him and pulled him out of the way as Natasha and Clint followed rapidly.

He looked at Natasha as she straightened, brushing her wind-blown red hair out of her face. “Are we keeping the dog?” he asked, and Ward nearly grinned when he heard the slight pleading in his voice.

Steve started laughing, and Natasha threw up her hands. “All of you,” she said, shaking her head. “All of them,” she repeated to Darcy as they rounded the corner.

“Did Coulson ask about the puppy?” Darcy asked eagerly, looking up from her phone.

“Yea,” Ward said. “We’re keeping him. His name is Buddy.”

They entered the common room, where Tony was reclining at the table, holding the wriggling dog in his arms. “He yours?” he asked Ward, who nodded before he thought about it.

He looked to Coulson quickly, but the man just nodded, smiling.

“He’s a fierce little thing,” Jane commented, taking a seat across from Tony as Thor set a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table.

Ward dropped into a seat next to Tony and took the puppy, who stopped snarling almost immediately.

“The kid’s got a gift,” Tony said, visibly impressed. “Ah! Natalie came.”

“Natalie?”

“That was the name she gave me when I first met her,” Tony explained. “The filthy liar.”

“Men who are used to telling believable lies don’t like to find out they’ve been taken in,” Natasha said calmly, but her eyes were twinkling with mischief. “He’s also bitter because I beat him in a drinking competition.”

Coulson cleared his throat and looked at Ward.

“Oh come on, Phil,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “He’s not naïve. We were only _talking_ about drinking.”

“It’s not like I don’t know anything about it,” Ward said angrily, thinking of missing beer bottles and angry monsters and two gunshots, two small, falling bodies—

Someone’s hand brushed his arm, pulling him out of the memory.

It was Darcy, reaching across him to fill her plate with mashed potatoes, but she was looking at him with concern under her usual lighthearted expression.

He looked away, and Coulson pulled out the chair next to him and took a seat. “Potatoes?” he offered casually, but his expression said that he had noticed Ward’s sudden, angry panic.

Ward picked at his food, and spent more time feeding Buddy under the table so that Natasha couldn’t see.

Afterwards, Darcy dragged Tony forcibly into the kitchen and handed him a stack of dishes, putting in her earphones and ignoring his complaints.

Coulson mentioned some details about the school Ward would be starting, which Ward barely listened to, and Coulson gave him one last look of quiet concern before he rose to leave.

Impulsively, Ward stood and followed. “Can I talk to you?” he blurted out impulsively before he lost his nerve.

“Of course,” Coulson said. “In here?” he gestured to the lounge attached to the common room, which held a few more couches and a pool table.

Ward followed him, holding Buddy a little too tightly. The puppy nipped his finger, and Ward loosened his grip, his hands sweating nervously.

“Um,” he began. “My—um—my ribs. The broken ones.”

Coulson nodded.

“They weren’t broken a long time ago,” Ward admitted, letting out his breath with a whoosh of air. “They were recent.”

“Do you want to tell me who broke them?”

“No,” Ward said quickly.

“Okay,” Coulson said softly, and then he paused, waiting.

“That’s all,” Ward said. “I just thought I should—I should—tell you, I guess.”

Coulson nodded, his gaze piercing Ward. “Thank you,” he said quietly, opening the door for Ward and placing his hand on Ward’s shoulder just briefly as Ward left the room in front of him. “And Ward?”

Ward turned. “Yea?”

“If you ever want to talk,” Coulson said. “About anything. You can. Okay?”

Ward nodded. “Okay.”

His hand reached down to touch his bandaged ribs, and he exhaled slightly. Garrett could still kill him, and no one would stop it because no one would know.

Ward pulled Buddy closer, rubbing behind the puppy’s ears. The puppy snapped at him for a moment but then curled in close, rubbing his nose against Ward’s arm.

When he re-entered the common room, Ward saw that Barton and Darcy were both seated on the couch, watching the Walking Dead, enthralled in the show, so he curled up on the couch between them before he gave himself the chance to back out or wonder why.

And when Coulson found him later, he had fallen asleep—again—his head resting just slightly against Barton’s arm, looking so peaceful it was hard to believe that this was the same wounded child with three broken ribs and silence that had ripped a hole through all of their hearts.


	7. Broken Ribs

In the weeks that followed Grant’s entry into the Avenger’s quarters at the Hub, Coulson didn’t learn much about him—and neither, for that matter, did anyone else.

He was quite for the most part, but it was a quiet anger—anger and grief, too—that manifested itself different ways. The boy seemed to avoid emotional displays, though, except when it came to Buddy the puppy. The dog Grant loved unreservedly, and despite Coulson’s initial reservations about keeping a puppy that was, in fact, nearly feral, the dog became Grant’s shadow, snapping at the others on occasion but devoting itself to Grant.

Grant had started school at a nearby math and science academy, and he never spoke about it when he arrived home at the end of the day. His teachers said he was quiet—not the respectful kind of quiet, but the careless kind of quiet that meant he probably still wasn’t paying attention. Coulson didn’t blame him. The boy’s ribs may be healing, but he had scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life, and he had a lot to work through before he could even think about making school a priority.

The only thing Coulson did learn with any conclusiveness was that for being so slow to trust, the boy fell asleep anywhere. Most often it was on the couch watching Darcy’s favorite show, but there were other instances, too.

Once Barton found him on the roof where he’d been waiting up for the two spies to come home from a mission. Grant had fallen fast asleep on the hard ground, leaning against the kick tower that Natasha used to practice.

On another occasion, Steve found him asleep at the kitchen table with his math book open in front of him, Buddy sprawled sleeping across its pages.

Whenever this happened, there was always someone not currently on a mission who would carry him to bed—Steve, usually, but Barton and Thor on many occasions.

Coulson noticed that they all stuck around more often now that the boy was living there.

Between missions, Steve had taken to staying at the Hub for extended periods of time instead of returning to his apartment. Tony kept showing up at random hours—occasionally arriving in the middle of the night with a new invention he was tinkering with. Thor had planned to return to Asgard weeks ago, but he kept making excuses to stay longer, and Jane was in no hurry to leave with him, either.

And Darcy had stopped even pretending to function as Jane’s assistant when Ward was around, spending all her time playing with him and Buddy or watching their favorite TV show.

Maria Hill, usually busy with missions, kept making excuses to spend her time in the Avengers quarters, and Pepper Potts, who was usually kept busy doing everything Tony was supposed to be doing, began taking frequent half-days off to join the group for dinners and check in on Grant.

Tasha, usually eager to be on active ops, actually refused an op because she wanted to be present when Grant got his bandages off, and Barton spent hours patiently training Grant on their windy rooftop workout room.

It was closing in on November—about six weeks since Grant had arrived at the compound—when trouble started.

It was a cold, windy Thursday morning, and Coulson had dropped Grant off at the bus stop about an hour before.

Coulson was on a lower level of the Hub in a strategy meeting with Agent Hand and a few others.

Hand asked about the boy frequently—had even stopped in to see them once and stayed for dinner—despite her vocal disapproval of having a kid stay at the S.H.I.E.L.D. hub.

They exited the strategy room together, having finished putting together a team for an op, and Hand brought up the topic of Ward as she always did after they had finished whatever their S.H.I.E.L.D. duties of the day were. “The kid,” she said in her usual curt tone. “How is he?”

Coulson sighed. “He’s okay,” he said. “He’s not thriving, though. He’s safe, and that’s important, but he doesn’t seem happy, except when he’s playing with the dog, and I don’t know what to do to make it better for him.”

Hand shot him an odd little smile. “He’s getting there,” she said. “You only brought him in six weeks ago, you can’t expect to fix all his problems in that time, Phil.”

Coulson sighed, opening his mouth to reply, when they turned a corner and found Grant himself.

The boy was sitting on the floor, leaning against a door and staring blankly ahead of him, unseeing, and there was a bruise swelling under his eye.

“Grant! What are you doing here?”

The boy looked up slowly, confusion on his face as if he didn’t understand what was happening. He had a numb, desperate look plastered across his face, and it made Coulson feel sick suddenly.

He crouched at the boy’s level, trying to catch Grant’s eye. “What happened, son?” he asked, reaching out a hand to tilt Grant’s face so he could see the bruise. “Who did this to you?”

“I’m afraid he did this to himself,” Garrett’s voice boomed above him unexpectedly, and the boy nearly jumped out of his skin.

In Garrett’s hand was Buddy the puppy, yelping in pain. One of Buddy’s legs was at an odd angle, obviously broken.

“He snuck back here,” Garrett said.

Grant said nothing.

“Playing hooky,” Garrett continued. “He picked a fight with a level one. Lashed out. I’ve never seen a kid so angry, Phil, but he beat the shit out of one of my men—he’s in the infirmary now—and when the dog got in the way, he kicked it. Broke one of its legs.”

Grant stared straight forward, his eyes dark and empty.

“Grant?” Coulson stared back and forth between them.

Hand stared at all three of them. “You should take this business up to your quarters, gentlemen,” she said crisply. “Phil, you and I will have a talk about your boy attacking an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. later. Garrett, get him up.”

Garrett reached for Grant, but Phil knocked his hand away, offering his own hand to the boy.

Grant didn’t move.

Coulson took his arm and pulled him gently to his feet.

“I did it,” Grant said abruptly, his tone blank of emotion, his stare cold. “Everything Garrett said. Just send me away now.”

Coulson stared at him. “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what happened, but I know that’s not the full story. Take Buddy, and we’ll go upstairs and talk this through, okay?”

“I’d like to come, Phil,” Garrett said. “I was the one who saw the incident.”

Coulson looked up in annoyance as he guided Ward towards the elevator, swiping his badge to gain them clearance. “Grant and I have a lot to talk about”—

“Let him come,” Grant said, and Coulson sighed, nodding impatiently for Garrett to get in.

When they reached the quarters, they were empty for the day—Jane, Darcy and Thor were in the lab, Steve was debriefing Hill on his latest op, and Barton and Romanov were both on active ops that morning.

Garrett made himself at home, lounging on the couch after he set Buddy rather carelessly on the ground, making the puppy whimper.

Grant stood where Coulson had left him, near the door.

He stood stiffly, his eyes still blank, but when Coulson looked closely, he saw tears standing in the boy’s eyes.

“Grant,” he said gently. “You can tell me what happened. It’s okay.”

The boy didn’t move, didn’t speak.

He barely seemed to breathe.

“Grant,” Coulson repeated firmly. “We need to talk about this. I want your side of the story.”

“I don’t think you’re going to get answers that way,” Garrett said, laughing abrasively. “I’ve seen his type. He’s the kind of kid who will hurt someone innocent like that dog, with no regrets.”

Coulson wheeled on him sharply. “He’s the kind of kid who’s _been_ hurt,” he snapped. “And I plan to find out who did it, and why.”

Grant stepped forward slowly until he was standing near Garrett. “You know why,” Grant said, his tone utterly defeated. “That’s what I am. Garrett just told you.”

“I don’t believe it for a second,” Coulson said stubbornly, turning away from him in frustration. “I know someone was there when you were in the woods, and I know they hurt you. I know someone hurt you again today—and I know you knew about S.H.I.E.L.D. before we found you—so that means whoever has been threatening you is one”—Coulson stopped, sick realization dawning on him.

“Of you,” Garrett said, his voice hard. “That’s right, Phil. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to figure that out. No, don’t try anything. Turn around, slowly.”

Coulson turned around to see Garrett on his feet, a small, twisted smile uncurling across his face.

And he had a gun pointed straight at Grant’s head. 


	8. Rescue

“I’m leaving the compound and I’m taking the boy as a little… insurance,” Garrett smiled, his gun trained on Grant’s head.

“No,” Coulson said desperately, raising his hands. “No. Look, I’m not armed, I can’t hurt you. Point the gun at me instead. Take me as your hostage.”

“No,” Grant said, his face twisting with emotion. “No. Why would you do that?”

“Because he wants to capture me, kid,” Garrett said bitterly. “S.H.I.E.L.D. will come after me if he’s with me. You, on the other hand, are disposable, kid. No one’s going to come for you.”

“If you hurt him,” Coulson said, surprising himself at the savagery lacing his voice. “I will tear you apart with my bare hands. Now, John, _point the damn gun at me_.”

“No,” Grant protested again. “Let him take me.”

“No way in hell.”

“You don’t have a choice, Phil,” Garrett said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Stand down and move the hell over. The kid and I are leaving.”

The door opened behind him, and Steve stopped just behind Phil, staring at the three of them in shock. The surprise gave way to understanding and then to anger in a split second, however.

“Oh, good lord,” Garrett said in annoyance. “Not another self-righteous bastard. Get the _hell_ out of my way, both of you, or I blow this kid’s brains out.”

“No,” Steve said. “No, if you want a hostage, take me.”

Grant’s face twisted with disbelief and emotion again. “Stop,” he said thickly, and there were tears standing on his face. “Don’t do this. Not for me.”

“John, please,” Coulson said, taking a tiny step forward. “Don’t drag the boy into this. He doesn’t deserve it, he’s been through enough”—

Garrett cocked his pistol, pressing it into Ward’s temple. “That’s enough talking,” he snarled. “Ward, my boy, you are going to tie these two up so they don’t hamper our escape, and then we’ll be off.”

“No,” Grant whimpered. “No, I can’t”—

Garrett’s free hand curled into a fist and slammed into the boy’s ribs.

Coulson heard the sharp crack and started forward involuntarily, stopping when Garrett placed the gun against Grant’s head again.

“Don’t move,” Garrett ordered Coulson. “Grant, tie Captain Rogers up there.”

When Ward didn’t move, Steve spoke softly. “Do as he says, Grant. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Garrett pulled another gun and pointed it straight at Coulson’s head. “And if you move while he’s doing that, I’ll shoot both of you.”

Grant, who was deathly pale and looked as if he was going to be sick, took the rope Garrett had withdrawn from the pack on his back and wound it around Steve, who remained motionless as the boy tied him to a chair.

“Coulson next,” Garrett ordered. “And if either of you try anything, I’ll take the shot. You know I will.”

Grant looked at Coulson, desperation in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Coulson said softly. “Do what you have to, Grant. We’ll get you back. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Phil,” Garrett sneered. As soon as Coulson was secure, Garrett grinned at the two of them. “Oh, Phil, Phil, how long is it going to take you to realize you shouldn’t believe a word out of my mouth? I don’t need a hostage now, I can just walk out the front door and no one will stop me. And the boy… he’s disposable. He knows too much, Phil, about me, about what I do—he certainly knows more than you. And now he’s going to die, Phil, because you were a fool. He’s going to die—in front of you—and you’ll be sitting on your helpless asses.”

Garrett’s fist slammed into Grant’s face, sending the boy flying backwards. He hit the wall hard, and crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap, and Coulson and Steve both strained at their bonds desperately, the rope digging into their wrists.

“How does it feel to be that helpless, Phil?” Garrett asked, a smile twisting across his face. “How does it feel to watch a boy you love die”—

His body went abruptly stiff, and then jerked spasmodically—Coulson strained at his bonds, surprise and confusion registering just as someone ripped the gun from Garrett’s hand and his body fell to the ground with a mundane finality.

And standing there over his unconscious body was the most unexpected rescuer in the history of rescues—Darcy, dark eyes blazing, a taser in one hand and Garrett’s gun in the other.


	9. Crooked Sticks can Make Straight Lines

When Darcy freed them, Steve bound Garrett’s unconscious body and called for a security team, who he accompanied as they carried Garrett to a cell on one of the lower floors.

Coulson alerted the med team, but he insisted on carrying Grant, who was still unconscious, down to the med wing himself, accompanied by Darcy. The young woman, who usually walked so carelessly, checking her phone, exchanging jokes with those she passed, and sassing everyone she spoke with, walked with her head held high now, her dark eyes flashing. And she wasn’t putting the taser now.

The boy was light—heartbreakingly so—and Coulson wondered if the reason Grant had failed to gain weight was because of the stress and fear of Garrett hanging over him all these weeks.

Coulson carried the boy quickly, too much adrenaline in his system to grow tired, and he ignored the looks of other agents in the Hub hallways.

Darcy only spoke once, when a young level one agent walking in front of them turned around and stopped, gawking at them.

“Agent Coulson, sir, what”—

“Move,” Darcy snapped. “We have to get him to med.”

When the agent stammered and failed to step out of the way, Darcy raised her taser threateningly. “I just knocked out a level ten agent with this,” she said, pushing him to the side. “And I’ve knocked out a god with it, so don’t try me.”

Coulson looked at her in admiration as they hurried past the agent, who was fumbling his apologies.

Just then, the med team surrounded them, taking him from Coulson’s arms and setting him on the stretcher.

“We’ll take him from here,” the doctor—Dr. Twiss, the same woman who had done the x-rays on the boy when he had first arrived—shouldered her way through, nodding to Coulson.

“I’m staying with him,” Coulson said stubbornly, and she nodded.

“Good. Then take that side of the stretcher.”

They brought Grant into one of the many med rooms, where Coulson moved the unconscious boy gently from the stretcher to the hospital bed.

“Check his vitals first,” Twiss ordered. “And then I want a full scan for all possible fractures. He’s only unconscious, but we need full details on any possible concussions or internal hemorrhaging.”

Her team busied themselves, but Coulson remained at Grant’s side, fighting back the emotion that clenched his throat.

_How could they have been so blind for so long? How could they have let this boy be so abused under their very noses?_

He had no idea why Garrett had found the boy in the first place, or why he had left him in the woods for a year, and he found that he didn’t care about _why_ as much as he cared about making sure it never happened again. All that mattered was that this skinny, battered boy who saved abandoned puppies and held his own in a family of spies and soldiers, gods and scientists, would never again feel unsafe in his own home.

“He has a minor concussion and a fractured rib,” Twiss interrupted Coulson’s thoughts as her team began clearing from the room. “He’ll sleep for a while, and even when he wakes we’ll want to keep him down here for a few days, but he’ll be alright. We’re lucky there wasn’t any deeper damage.”

_Any deeper damage?_

_I don’t know about that._

“I’m going to stay with him,” Coulson said. “Someone should be here when he wakes up.”

The doctor’s businesslike expression softened. “Of course,” she said. “It will be good to have someone he knows here for him when he wakes. He’s had a bad scare from the sounds of it.”

“And I’ll be back,” Darcy spoke, brushing hair out of Grant’s sleeping face and then turning to go. “I’m going to tell the others.”

Coulson pulled a chair up to Grant’s bedside. “Will some of your team be on-call if we need you?”

She nodded. “I will be, and the other doctor, Lily Simmons, is on call.”

She followed Darcy through the door, and Coulson reached out and laid a hand on Grant’s arm.

“Grant,” he said softly, despite knowing that the boy likely couldn’t hear him. “Grant, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

His voice cracked briefly, and he steadied himself.

“We thought you were protecting you and we were letting that bastard put you through hell all over again,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “We failed you. _I_ failed you. And I’m so sorry, Grant. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Coulson didn’t speak after that, but he stayed at his side—for how long, he could only guess—and the boy didn’t wake as the hours rolled away.

At some moments, Coulson wondered if he might break, his throat clenched with emotion. He wanted to shout, to cry out—that the world was unfair, that this boy should never have been broken the way he had been, and that he, Phil Coulson, was never, ever going to let anyone lay a hand on his boy again.

Steve and Darcy rejoined him several hours later.

“Garrett woke,” Steve said briefly, but his focus was on the boy. “How is he?”

“He hasn’t woken yet,” Coulson said, not stirring from his position next to Grant. “Darcy, do the others know?”

She nodded. “Jane and Thor wanted to come right away, but I said we should wait until he’s awake before he has more visitors. I called Tony, and he flew here. In his suit. Through the window. He’s still arguing with Agent Hand over that one, and Pepper is trying to sort it all out, but they both want to see him as soon as he’s ready.”

“And Barton and Romanov? Please tell me you gave the order that Romanov isn’t allowed near the prisoner yet,” Coulson turned to Steve, who nodded.

“I talked to Hill, and she said she would alert Barton and Romanov, and make sure the prisoner was restricted from their access,” Steve assented. “Do you want us to leave?” He looked at Darcy. “I don’t want him to be overwhelmed when he wakes up.”

Coulson hesitated, and then nodded. “I’ll call you as soon as he’s awake.”

The boy finally woke nearly two hours after Steve and Darcy left them alone again.

His eyelids fluttered, and then he jerked awake, his arms flailing as he fought to sit up.

“Shh shh it’s okay,” Coulson stood, lowering Grant gently back onto the bed. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“What”—Grant began, his voice cracking, and Coulson placed a hand on his arm.

“Darcy hit Garrett with her taser,” Coulson told him, a note of pride in his voice. “He’s in custody, and he’s not going to hurt you ever again.”

The smallest of smiles slipped across Grant’s face. “Darcy did that?”

Coulson nodded. “You’re in the med wing now,” he said quietly. “You’ll be staying here for a day or two, just to make sure you heal.”

Grant nodded. “Are you okay?”

Coulson assented.

“And Steve?”

“Fine,” Coulson said. “We’re both fine. You need to worry about you. About getting better. Okay?”

“What about Buddy?” Grant asked, worry dawning across his face. “Is Buddy okay?”

The door opened suddenly, and Tony was standing there, followed by an exasperated Steve, Pepper, and Hill, who had all obviously been trying to stop him from entering. Tony was carrying Buddy, and when he held him out wordlessly to Grant, Coulson saw that the puppy’s leg, which had been broken earlier that day, was sheathed in a small metal plate similar to the metal in Tony’s suit.

“Buddy’s fine,” Tony said, and Grant took the dog into his arms with an expression that twisted Coulson’s heart.

“Now we need you better. Okay?” Steve said gently, guiding Grant back to the bed with the dog.

“Okay.” 


	10. Where the Light Meets the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is where the healing begins,  
> this is where the light meets the dark,   
> the light meets the dark..."   
> \--Tenth Avenue North

Steve, Darcy, and Pepper managed to pull Tony from the room again, and Coulson was left alone with Grant.

The boy looked at the puppy in his hands, at the metal plate encasing its small leg, and then he held the puppy out to Coulson.

“You have to take him,” he said, his voice cracking. “Buddy won’t want to trust me again.”

Coulson shook his head, gently pushing the puppy back into Grant’s arms. “What are you talking about?”

Grant stared at the covers for a long minute. “Just watch the security footage,” he said finally, his voice empty. “Garrett wasn’t wrong about everything.”

“Garrett was a sick psychopath,” Coulson said firmly. “And I want to hear it from you. I want you to tell me your story.”

Grant shook his head, and it hit Coulson suddenly that a kid who has been abused all his life could not possibly know how to tell his own story.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Talk to me, Grant. I need to know what happened.”

“I was the one who broke Buddy’s leg,” Grant blurted out, looking up at Coulson desperately. “Garrett said he was going to kill me and then he was going to kill Buddy and I didn’t know what to do I didn’t know”—

His voice cracked and he looked away, shame hanging over him like a cloud.

“Hey,” Coulson said gently. “Grant. It’s okay.”

Grant shook his head, staring at the puppy beside him on the bed. The dog pushed its nose hesitantly against the boy’s hand, and Grant’s face twisted with emotion.

“Listen to me,” Coulson said, pulling his chair up to Grant’s bedside and looking him straight in the eye. “What you did? That was Garrett’s fault, not yours.”

“I still made the choice,” Grant said thickly. “I hurt Buddy. You should—you should tell Natasha to find a new home for him. A better home.”

“No,” Coulson said firmly. “This was about survival, and there was a psychopathic monster threatening your life if you said no. That isn’t a choice, okay? And if it is a choice, your life is worth it, Grant.”

The boy’s head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Coulson as if the idea was entirely foreign to him.

“Your life is worth it to me,” Coulson repeated. “To all of us. And look,” he gestured to Buddy, who was curled up trustingly against Grant’s hand. “He still trusts you.”

“He shouldn’t.”

“Grant,” Coulson said seriously. “Regardless of anything that happened before, you have a choice now, and that’s more important than anything else. You may think you had a choice when it came to what Garrett did, and I may think differently, but what matters is that now you have a choice. You have a choice in how you treat Buddy. In how you treat everyone else around you. And I may have only met you two months ago, but I know you, Grant. And I know you want to make the right choices.”

Grant’s hand curled tightly around the sheet. “I don’t know how,” he said in a small voice. “I don’t know how to be that person.”

“Well,” Coulson said. “Then I guess that’s what we’re here for; me and Steve and Darcy and the rest.”

Grant nodded slowly. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you were going to stick around,” he admitted, and the words caught Coulson off guard. “I thought Garrett would win. I thought men like him always win.”

“Not in the end,” Coulson said firmly. “They never win in the end. Men like Garrett, who prey on the wounded, they don’t win, because they’re weak, Grant. They don’t know how to care—because even the way you care about Buddy was foreign to a man like John Garrett—and they don’t have anything to fight for but themselves. And that’s true weakness.”

“Garrett said that survival was the only strength,” Grant said. “And that caring… caring was humanity’s disadvantage. He said that if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t cared about Chelle and D-dana—that it wouldn’t have… wouldn’t have hurt so much when I lost them.”

Buddy nosed against Grant’s arm again in concern, and then the boy’s tired, skinny body was heaving with sobs and Coulson had his arms around him, holding the boy close to his heart as the grief that had been suppressed for over a year crashed over him like rolling waves.

It was the first time Grant Ward had cried in years.


	11. Vengeance

Coulson didn’t leave the med room until Grant was fast asleep that night, Buddy curled up next to him.

When he exited the room, he found Agent Hand waiting for him, staring at him impassively.

“You kept both the strays, Agent Coulson,” she said, a smile touching her lips. “I would never have thought it could work.”

Coulson smiled. “I wish we’d found him earlier,” he said, regret hanging heavy over his words.

“What you told the kid tonight, Phil?” Hand said sharply. “You were right. It’s what happens next that matters.”

Coulson nodded. “Have you interrogated Garrett yet?”

“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” Hand said, and her smiled widened, showing teeth momentarily. “Prepare yourself, Phil. I can’t count how many protocols—and direct orders from you—were broken, but he’s already been… interrogated. To an extent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Follow me.”

When they stopped just outside the cell, Coulson paused in astonishment.

“Good god,” he said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “I thought I told you to keep Romanov out.”

Garrett’s face had taken a beating, and he was sitting in the chair, handcuffed, looking as if it hadn’t just been his face that had been targeted. Coulson turned to the level three agent who was standing guard outside the cell, and the man took a small step back. Coulson noticed he was sporting a small bruise under his left eye.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said nervously. “It wasn’t just Romanov. Hill brought her, and Dr. Foster and Miss Potts and Dr. Foster’s assistant.”

“Darcy?”

The guard nodded.

“This was under Hill’s orders?”

“She opened the door, sir,” the guard said helplessly. “Would you like to see the footage from the, erm, interrogation?”

“Yes,” Coulson sighed. “I suppose I would.”

The guard led them away from the cell towards a monitor, where he pulled up the footage.

“Here it is, sir,” he said, still looking nervous. “I’m sorry, sir, I really didn’t anticipate”—

Coulson waved him away. “It’s Romanov and Hill,” he said. “No one can really anticipate them.”

Hand smirked slightly. “Play it, Phil. I think you just might enjoy it a little bit.”

“I don’t enjoy torture,” Coulson retorted, biting back his curiosity.

“How about vengeance?” Hand asked, pushing play.

_The five women strode towards the cell as one, Hill leading the way._

_“I’m sorry, Agent Hill, I have orders not to allow Agent Romanov past this point,” the level three agent apologized. “Will you wait here”—_

_“I have orders that supersede yours, agent,” Hill said crisply. “She comes with me as my personal… security.”_

_“You need security?” the agent stammered. “I could call a team instead”—_

_“We’re going in,” Pepper interrupted him in a tone comically reminiscent of Tony’s. “I think it would be wise to stand aside, agent, and let Agent Hill do her job.”_

_The women pushed past, and Jane reached the cell door first._

_Garrett looked up in surprise when they entered, but a smile twisted across his face when he saw who it was._

_“What’s up, Doc?” he asked with mock cheerfulness, and Jane’s small fist collided with his jaw, catching him by surprise._

_Pepper was there in a second, too, the back of her hand meeting his face._

_She looked surprised by her own actions half a second later, and stared at her hand with a mixture of shock and satisfaction._

_“You don’t mess with one of ours, Garrett,” Hill said coldly. “Especially not our boy.”_

_“Can I tase him again?” Darcy asked._

_“No,” Hill said. “I want him awake for this. Pepper, Jane, you might not want to stick around for this part.”_

_“This part?” Pepper’s voice sounded higher than normal._

_“I think I want to,” Jane said, a hard note in her usually warm voice. “I wish I’d done this a long time ago.”_

_Darcy raised her eyebrows. “Can you ask your boyfriend to come down, Jane?” she asked. “He might want to join the party.”_

_Jane smiled grimly. “He’ll want to have his turn, I’m sure.”_

_“Jane. Pepper. Darcy. It’s time for you to go,” Hill ordered again, folding her arms. “I’m serious. Romanov and I have other business to attend to.”_

_Reluctantly, the three women turned to go, Darcy calling over her shoulder that she would still like to tase him again when they were finished._

_As soon as they were gone, Hill turned to Garrett, her face hard. “Grant Ward belongs to us,” she said. “And you’re never going to lay a hand on him again.”_

_Her fist collided with Garrett’s face once, a careful, measured strike that made him let out a low grunt of pain._

_And now, finally, John Garrett had the good sense to look terrified._

_“Other interrogators will come,” Natasha spoke for the first time, moving to stand beside Hill. “They’ll be concerned about restraint and answers and a hundred other things. I only care about one thing, Garrett.”_

_“The red in your ledger?” Garrett asked unwisely. “I’ve heard there’s a lot of red there,_ Natasha _. Is that what you care about?”_

_“No,” she said emotionlessly, but when she leaned over him, there was a spark in her eyes that she could not hide. “Nobody fucks with our boy.”_

Coulson stopped the footage, not caring to see the beating. “I don’t want Grant to know,” he said finally, as satisfying as it had been.

“I don’t think they want him to know, either,” Hand said.

“I don’t want him to grow up on vengeance,” Coulson continued. “As much as I enjoyed that.”

“Understood,” Hand said crisply. “I would say it’s a good thing the kid has you, Phil, because there’s not another person in this building who wouldn’t throw a punch for that kid.”

“He’s seen enough punches thrown,” Coulson said quietly. “And I wouldn’t have denied Hill and Romanov their vengeance. I don’t regret what they’ve done—I would have done it myself it they hadn’t—and I don’t pity that sick son of a bitch, but it’s time Grant learned a different kind of strength.”

“I agree,” Hand said. “And you may have surrounded him with a group of people who fight more fiercely than any other group of people on this planet, but you’ve given him a group of people who love more fiercely, too. It’s a savage pack you’ve brought your cub into, Coulson.”

“But it’s a pack that protects its own,” Coulson said. “And right now our boy needs people who will let him know that he’s worth that protection.”

Hand smiled. “He will, Coulson,” she said as they made their way back up the stairs. “There is nothing the Avengers would not do for their boy.” 


	12. Three Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There have been dark Fridays and cold Saturdays before,  
> forlorn gray nights and black dawns.  
> And perhaps you have forgotten:  
> Sunday came, even then."  
> -lovesoradical

Grant stayed in med for three days, and when Dr. Twiss finally cleared him to go, Coulson was there waiting to take him home.

Over the past three days, every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent he worked with had asked about the boy—and each once had asked to see him, or if they could bring him something, or if, at the very least, they would be allowed to take a swing at Garrett (Hill said it should be a privilege granted to every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent).

The boy stood uncertainly when Coulson entered the med wing.

“You ready to go?”

He nodded, holding Buddy close to his chest.

The dog squirmed, and he loosened his hold.

Coulson noticed that the boy’s hands were shaking slightly.

“Do they—do they all know that I lied?” he asked suddenly. “That I knew Garrett was a traitor and I didn’t tell anyone?”

“They all know what happened, Grant,” Coulson said firmly. “And they all know it’s not your fault. In any way. Okay?”

He nodded uncertainly.

When they opened the doors to enter their quarters, noise exploded around them and Grant leaped back, panic crossing his face immediately.

It was cheering—the especially loud noises had come from the side where Tony, Clint, and Thor were standing—and the entire team was assembled, waiting.

Coulson placed a steadying hand on Grant’s shoulder and guided him into the room.

Steve reached them first. “It’s good to have you back,” he said simply.

Grant surprised them all by stepping forward into Steve’s arms, still clutching Buddy, and Steve ruffled his hair, grinning down at him.

“You had us worried, kid,” Hill was next, and she clapped one hand on his shoulder, the lines of her face still firm but her eyes soft, and Grant nodded, understanding.

Pepper came next, and she pulled Grant into a hug, too. “You scared the hell out of all of us,” she said, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

Tony stood behind her, his hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly. “How’s Buddy?” he asked abruptly.

“He’s good,” Grant said, grinning suddenly. “The plate you made for his leg really helps. He’s healing.”

“Good,” Tony said, and Coulson saw, shocked, that there were tears at the back of the man’s eyes.

“If I call him Iron Dog”—Grant began mischievously.

“You won’t!” Tony cut him off, and Steve and Pepper were both laughing now. Tony tapped the light in his chest. “You need to take Iron Man more seriously, my friend.”

“You have a flying metal suit,” Grant said, ducking as Tony reached out a hand to shove him playfully. “Steve says it’s not good for you to be taken too seriously, and Natasha says”—

Natasha cleared her throat. “Erm,” she said. “That’s probably enough.”

“If you can say it I can,” Grant said, grinning, and she hooked one arm over her shoulder.

“Not in front of Coulson you can’t,” she told him. “When we practice on the roof later, feel free to say whatever you want.”

“Nat!” Clint protested. “You’re a terrible example.”

“I think she’s great,” Grant said.

“I think you’re a suck-up,” Clint said, throwing an arm over his shoulder from the other side. “But I’m glad you’re back.”

“No archery today,” Coulson said, drilling Clint with a glare. “He needs to heal. And Tasha, no sparring for at least three weeks, maybe more. Hill, tell them?”

“If the kid doesn’t heal, you’re both fucked,” Hill said bluntly, and Grant burst out laughing. “So don’t push it, you two. Maybe I should find you a mission every day for the next three weeks.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “We won’t let him spar,” she said. “And I’ll hide Clint’s bows if I have to.”

“You will not,” Clint said. “If you do I’ll”—

“What? What will you do?” she asked, daring him playfully.

“I will… not do anything because you might throw me off the roof if I do,” Clint finished lamely, and Grant snickered again.

Thor and Jane stepped forward, and Jane smiled that bright smile that had endeared Grant to her when Coulson had first brought the boy in.

“It’s so good to have you back,” she said brightly, hugging him quickly.

Thor wrapped bulky arms around both of them. “Welcome home, son of Midgard,” he said.

“We made pancakes tonight to celebrate,” she said. “Well, Thor did. They’re your favorite kind—blueberry pancakes and chocolate chip pancakes.”

“On my world, we cook them with gingberries,” Thor said. “Someday I will take you with me and you will have _real_ food, Midgardian.”

Grant’s jaw dropped. “You’ll take me _with you_? To _space_?” His eyes were as round as saucers.

Thor grinned. “Of course, young one. You can meet my mother and my company, Lady Sif and the warriors three.”

“I’ve met Lady Sif,” Darcy spoke up, emerging from behind Thor. She was wearing her old carefree expression again, but Coulson noticed that her dark eyes still shone with that fierce light.

Grant stared at her for a long moment. “Did you really hit Garrett with the taser?” he asked finally.

She nodded.

“That’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard,” he said. “Thanks.”

Darcy grinned from ear to ear. “Yea,” she said. “No problem.”

“Walking Dead marathon tonight?” he asked.

“Do you have school tomorrow?” she asked, and he looked to Coulson.

“Do I have to go tomorrow?” he asked pleadingly.

“They don’t expect you back until Monday,” Coulson said, smiling. “So have your Walking Dead marathon. Just don’t let him stay up all night, Darcy.”

Thor called them for dinner then, and for the first time since Grant had arrived in their midst, he walked confidently to the table, taking his place among them as if he knew he belonged there. He laughed more during that meal than Coulson had heard him laugh since he’d arrived, and later, when Coulson came out planning to join Grant and Darcy’s TV marathon, he found that Tony, Clint, and Nat were piled onto the couches, too, watching the Walking Dead with Darcy and Grant. Jane and Thor were standing together, Jane leaning back against Thor’s chest as they watched, and Steve, Hill and Pepper stood on the opposite side, talking quietly as they looked out over the group.

Their boy was in the middle of the group, holding Buddy in his arms, and he was curled up on the couch, his head on Darcy’s shoulder. He was fast asleep, his face more peaceful than Coulson had ever seen, and Coulson’s face softened as he looked on at the group.

Grant Ward was finally home.

 

 

**_AN: this will have a sequel, “Raising Grant Ward,” so stay tuned. I’m not done with this fix-it fic, I just decided to break it up into a few different parts. FitzSimmons, Skye, May, Sharon Carter, Sam Wilson, and Bruce Banner will be coming onto the scene in that sequel. As always, your lovely reviews and comments keep me going, my friends!_ **


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